What You Do When No One's Looking
by WatchingTheAngels
Summary: AU. When John left, Dean had just graduated high school. Being the older brother, he did what needed to be done to put food on the table. Now, four years later, he's still doing it. Then Castiel came. Warnings: Prostitution.
1. Alarm Clocks and Mean Friends

_A/n: Written for the neverending birthday challege over at livejournal. _

_Beta'd by the lovely _AngelisIgniRelucent _! Thank you so much!_

_**I'll be posting the rest periodically until it's all up. Hope you enjoy!**_

_Comments: Are my air. If you like it, hate it, want to marry/kill it, please, tell me! :)_

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><p>What You Do When No One's Looking<p>

Part 1

The cigarette hanging precariously from his lips let off tendrils of pale gray smoke into the air that curled around his face and stunk up his clothes. Securing the cancer stick between two fingers, Dean drew from the filter, hollowing his cheeks suggestively and held the pull in his lungs. He released it with a sigh and took a deep breath.

"I've been stood up." A scoff puffed out along with the next drag from the cigarette. Dropping the remains on the ground and stomping it out, he made his way back toward campus where the Impala was parked - the car his father had left him when he'd decided that his kids were holding him back.

He couldn't blame his father for leaving, not really, but he was the first raindrop in the storm that had been Dean's life ever since.

It had been a procession of firsts - the first time Dean found the money running out he was sixteen years, four months, and twelve days old. The first time his father had brought a woman home who wasn't mom he was sixteen years, nine months, and twelve days old. The first time he was left to take care of Sam by himself for a month he was seventeen years, eight months, and nineteen days old. The first time he realized his father wasn't coming back he was eighteen years and three days old. Dean had felt at once better, lighter, less tense. His father was now gone and Dean could finally be out from under his thumb. He could now raise Sammy the way he should have been all along.

Now, sucking in a breath and holding it to bring himself back to the present, he couldn't help but to think this wasn't the first time a John had chickened out, but fuck if Dean was going to stand out there and actually _look_ like a hooker waiting for him.

How Dean hated that word: hooker. Sure, a lot of them are doing this to get money to pay for drugs or pimps when they can just barely afford the dump they're living in at the moment because the landlord hasn't kicked them out on their barely clad ass, but they give street walking a bad name.

Dean wasn't doing this because he needed to pay a pimp. His brother had a path, a very secure and specific path that meant money. College was expensive. Dean had checked. He continued to believe Sammy was the best thing to happen to him. Sam gave him a goal, something to look forward to, and all he wanted was to make Sam's life better than his own. For the last three and a half years, he'd done what he does best: have sex. Only, more often than not it'd been for money. Sammy deserved the best and, even with a scholarship, the money was going to be tight.

When he was younger, Dean had wondered what he would be willing to do for his family - for his brother. He never knew until a few years ago when he was in the thick of it; until he was so deep in the shit that it was past his knees and suffocating him with its fumes with the knowledge that there was no way out. That even if he saw a rope to pull himself out, there was just no way he would have the strength to. Might as well just hang himself with it for all the good he would be to Sam.

The back alleys and rusting dumpsters were not always the most prominent reminders of what he was. It was his clothes. The stains on the knees of the few pairs of jeans that weren't ripped from being on the ground so often. It was his stance. The level of his once-determined, set shoulders now lowered as far as his self-esteem. It was in his breath. The peppermint-sweet burn of mouthwash that only served to remind him of what he'd done. It didn't really wash away the remains, but somehow enhanced the taste he was trying so desperately to forget until the next customer.

But sometimes... Sometimes it's all worth it. The first year Dean had been sucking cock, he could afford a present for Sammy's fourteenth birthday, and the splitting grin when Sammy'd held up the brand new pair of shoes made Dean's suffering worth it. Not just sometimes. Always.

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><p>"<em>We were both young when I first saw you...<em>"

Fuckin' Swift. Castiel swatted irritably at the traitorous machine that was spewing Taylor's whiny voice and the same four notes in a continuous procession through the speakers and waking him up from a rather nice dream. The only reason he had that stupid song was to wake him up in the morning and move him from whatever warm nook he happened to create for himself underneath the covers to stop the assault on his ears. Every morning he grumbled to himself why he kept using it until he remembered that it was the best song he could come up with a few years ago to do the job, and had never gotten around to changing it.

Throwing the covers back with a scowl he stretched, arching his back and yawning loudly, the groan pulled from somewhere near his toes. As he scratched his abs absently he got up and trekked to the bathroom then kitchen, nearly shitting himself when he saw Crowley hunched over a pile of steam and a mug of coffee.

"An IV drip would get it into you faster." He called, startling his friend and nearly making him drop his cup.

Crowley grumbled. "Fuck you, I like the taste."

Castiel had no idea what he meant. Tea was his morning pick-me-up thank you very much; coffee just tasted too bitter - the harsh bite made him cringe no matter how much sugar or milk he stirred in.

"You look like shit."

"G'morning to you too." Castiel mumbled as he turned the burner on under the pot. It felt like a peppermint day. Taking two bags from their sleeves and slipping them into his mug he sat on one of the island stools, resting his feet on the very edge and wrapping his arms around his legs. After looking at Crowley's sour expression for thirty-six-Mississippi, he sighed. "How's Ben?"

"Richard. And it's over. He was too..." The man scrunched up his nose trying to think of an appropriate word to describe yet another conquest, not ex-boyfriend. "Clingy." Seeming satisfied, he took another gulp of his putrid brew then dumped the dregs of it down the drain before pouring another cupful.

Castiel sighed. "I don't see why you even try. Go to the gay bar, find a cute guy, fuck him against the wall then leave. Be a man about it. Or, at least, not an asshole."

"Are you seriously bringing up that crap again? I told you I only do that to guys I like."

"You did it to me."

"Exactly."

A long whistle from the pot brought his legs to the floor and had him padding to the stove. Crowley was right, they had done just that.

He had just gotten dumped by his then boyfriend, Jimmy, who he had been with for over three years. Everything had seemed great to Castiel but Jimmy had wanted out. Castiel couldn't make him stay no matter how much he'd begged on their apartment floor, the last words Jimmy said to him still ringing in his ears. 'And I thought I was the girl'.

The next night his friends had dragged him, literally kicking, to Jessie's, the residential gay bar and demanded he drink himself under the table. He hadn't wanted to but they insisted, bought his first four rounds, and after that he really didn't want to stop.

A really, like _really_ really good looking guy with brown eyes and short brown hair had come up to him, bought him his seventh round, and asked him to dance. As the third Ke$ha song came on and she asked if anyone wanted to dance with no pants on then meet out back, his mysterious suitor had arched an eyebrow as he ground against him to the beat.

When his back had hit the brick twenty minutes later he had figured, what the hell? Why not?

It hadn't been his first time bottoming, but it was one of the best, and the aches he had the next morning when he'd woken were actually pretty awesome. After rolling over, however, he came face to face with a smirking Crowley.

It had been a onetime thing but they both knew that. A week later Crowley had moved in with him and taken over the extra room and half the rent. Roomies. Yay.

"You're going to..."

"Shit!" Castiel screeched as the water overflowed and ran down his hand. Mumbling something that resembled "Fucking Crowley" he turned the faucet on cold. He set his hand under the stream and sighed.

What a way to start a Monday.

After drinking down his tea, taking his shower and getting dressed, the pair loaded into the car and made their way to work. There was only one good thing about working and living with Crowley. He had one weird taste in music and loved to show off his newest finds at top volume at seven o'clock in the morning.

"_It's in the way he says he loves, it's never enough..._"

There was a pause in the lyrics, time for the guitar to play a sad string of notes that Castiel took advantage of. "This is a chick song."

"_I wish that he could feel inside, what it's like..._"

"Wow. Feelings? Coming from you? Creepy."

"_I lost my way, I couldn't face, till one day..._"

"Dear Lord, I can't take this so early." Castiel groaned as he tightened his hold on the wheel before he took a turn.

"_My world came crashing down, I had to break..._"

"I can feel a loud chorus coming on..."

"_No No No No, you took a bite, you spit me out, a million times before, I've heard them shout. 'You couldn't change, it's a shame, I'm a nobody! I'm a nobody!_"

"You're ruining it."

"Bitch, I'm a star!" Crowley growled indignantly.

Castiel huffed a laugh. "And Hell is just a sauna."

The rest of the ride is filled with a slightly off-key rendition of the song being blared throughout the vehicle and Castiel couldn't help but smile. No matter how bad his roommate sang he would always let him. How could you say no to someone with a fake accent that sang like a strangled canary?

Thankfully, Crowley decided this was the time to turn the depressing song down and ask, "Why did you have to move here for again?"

"I needed to get away."

"You mean run away."

"No." Castiel growled. He wasn't a coward no matter what Jimmy said. "i_Get_/i away. Jimmy wouldn't stop calling and coming over, you know that. I couldn't stand to be near him anymore. If he wanted to break up with me, that's fine, but he didn't need to be such a bitch about it." His grip on the wheel did not get tighter. His knuckles were lying.

"Come on, Cassy. You miss him." When Castiel gave him an incredulous look, he continued in a much softer voice. "It's okay if you do. You were together for a year and the way he left sucks. Just remember that you need to get over him and fuck as many guys that will let you in their pants as possible."

He couldn't help but to laugh at Crowley's version of a pep-talk. The guy didn't have a serious bone in his body. "New job, new life, same old Crowley."

When he got a smack upside the head, he laughed again.

"Why did we move here, though? I mean, Lawrence is so... small. Why here?" Crowley practically pouted as he asked.

"There are still gay people here, you know. San Antonio isn't too far away and the clubs are gay friendly."

Scoffing, Crowley glanced out the window and saw the school coming up. "I wonder if..."

"Don't even think about it. I need this job. No screwing the students." Castiel glared at him as best he could while pulling into the parking lot and trying to find a spot. When he heard a pitiful whine come from the passenger seat he scolded. "I mean it."

Crowley's sex drive was one of the reasons he was fired from his old job. Apparently the boss didn't like that one of his employees had a history with his new boy-toy, also an employee, and not so discretely left Castiel a letter on his desk. When he'd confronted the asshole, thinking that he was a homophobic douchebag and had a letter of resignation in his hand, he'd stalked into the guy's office without knocking and found said douchebag on his knees with Crowley sitting in the Head Master's chair. Crowley had smirked, the exhibitionist bastard, and came down the guy's throat with a grunt. As his boss had smiled up at his friend, he'd seen Castiel out of the corner of his eye and gasped, a bright flush creeping onto his cheeks. The resignation was met with a nice compensation package. One that Crowley had promptly bought a new television with.

"You are a terrible friend and a cock-blocker."

Castiel laughed. "Just because..."

"Cock-blocker."

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><p>Dean sat in the idling Impala, waiting for Sam to get out of school. Even with the disappearing John he could afford a quick lunch for him and his brother. It's not like one good meal would leave them bankrupt. He'd texted Sam ten minutes ago saying that he'd be waiting in the back parking lot for him, and good ol' Sammy had asked if they would be back for his chemistry test in the next class.<p>

Kid's going to be a smart-ass time saver when he grows up. And a hot shot lawyer, Dean planned on making sure if that.

A tap on the driver's side window tore through his thoughts and he smiled when he saw his little brother. He motioned for him to get in and sat up straighter.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked as he plugged in the seat belt.

Dean's smile faltered a little. "Sammy, did you forget?"

"Forget... oh." He looked so sullen that Dean bumped his shoulder with his elbow and smiled when Sam did it back. "Mom's birthday lunch at the Roadhouse?"

Sammy grinned and everything was fine.

He blasted AC/DC as they crawled through town to the only small diner they could afford. A few older folk shook their heads and tutted at the loud music, and looked away when they saw it was just a couple of kids. They didn't know who Dean was or what he did, but his car was showy and music loud, so what could he be other than a trouble maker? Many had been friends with his parents and didn't even try to remember who the young Winchesters were. Not their kids, not their problem.

Whatever. It wasn't like they were handing him the money he worked for.

Well, that not exactly true, Dean thought with a little smirk. Most of his customers were the married men of this town who wanted something their wives wouldn't give them – something he gave for the right price. The people here were so closeted that they fucked him with his face in the pillow or, more often than not, facing the wall. As long as they didn't see his face they were happy. There were those few who did it face-to-face, but they only wanted to kiss his puffy lips that tasted like them while they drove him into the mattress, gritty concrete or sand, or the back seat of their car. He wondered if their wives could smell the sex their husbands had in the back when they buckled in the next day.

"I'm thinking about quitting the debate team and getting a job." Sam told him as he stared out the window, not wanting to make eye contact.

Dean shook his head once. "No. You stay in school. You do what you need to so you get the best grades and finish. A job would take you away from your studies." He hated telling Sammy no. It was one of the hardest things he ever did, but Sam needed to stay in school. Anything that jeopardized that would be unacceptable.

"Come on, Dean. I need to work. I need to pull my weight around now that I'm old enough to be able to. You've always done something, one job or another, to get us by. I want to help."

He just said nothing and continued driving. Dean didn't want to let on that he was kind of getting old for his 'work' and probably needed to get an actual job, preferably one with benefits, to pay the bills. Not that he would ever tell Sam that. Sam needed a new check-up, maybe even braces, and Dean couldn't afford that with his current health plan. Hell, he couldn't pay the rent with money from time to time. He wasn't able to stomach Sam doing anything but going to college and getting a real job, a girl, a family, and a happy, picket-fence life. School was Sam's thing, work was Dean's.

The Impala turtle-crawled into a parking spot and stopped. Both boys agreed with a look to talk about this later and just have their mom's birthday dinner in peace. Closing the door to his baby as gently as he could, Dean jogged ahead of his brother to get the door.

"I'm not a woman." Sam mumbled under his breath, hustling past anyway.

Snickering, Dean replied, "That hair says otherwise." He had to duck the swing his brother sent his way and laughed harder.

"Jerk."

"And you're a bitch. See? A woman." Dean smiled, eyes flitting over the booths to find an empty one near a window so he could watch out for his baby where she was parked.

They found what Dean considered the perfect seat and plopped down just as the waitress floated over. "What can I get for you, guys?" She asked, hip thrust out just slightly.

"Two cokes, please." Sammy ordered.

The waitress raised a brow but said nothing as she wrote it down.

Dean said as he flipped closed and collected the menus, "He'll have the large garden salad with ranch and extra bread and I'll take the bacon burger with fries. Thanks."

When she left, Dean and Sam raised their glasses and toasted to their mom before they gulped down most of their drinks.

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><p>Castiel yanked nervously on his tie again. He'd gotten along with the staff okay, made a good impression with his kind words and no spilled coffee in the break room, but the students were another thing all together. Now that he was here, he wondered why he'd taken the job at the university. Most of the kids here didn't listen to him. Like ten minutes ago when he tried to introduce himself, or two minutes ago when he'd tried to get their attention and settle them down.<p>

He was ready to go quit and scamper away when the door was thrown open and a short, brown-haired man stalked in and bellowed, "Will you people shut up?"

An instant quiet filled the room and Castiel's ears rung with the silence. He remembered the small man from the break room and tried to nod his thanks, but he wasn't paying Castiel any attention.

"This is despicable. Your new teacher, Mr. Novak here, was gracious enough to pick up everything and come here to teach your sorry asses and this is the thanks he gets? No, the next one of you to squawk a word gets detention." When he saw a hand in the air he snapped, "What?"

The boy's eyes widened slightly as he said, "But you can't give us detention."

"Is that so?"

The kid just gulped and looked down at his desk.

"That's what I thought."

Castiel felt a little upset with Gabriel, he'd finally remembered the guy's name, but understood that if the students didn't think he was respected by his colleagues they wouldn't either. Still, he let himself pout a moment before he began in a much softer, kinder voice, "I'd hate to do that, but it's not beyond me."

A few kids chuckled behind the boy that had spoken up before and he sighed. "Yes, I'm new. No, I don't care what you think. Mr. Milton here was nice enough to introduce me, but don't think I won't remind you of who is in charge if you get out of hand.

"Now, if you all will bear with me, I think we can have a good semester, but that's up to you. Treat me with respect and I'll return it. Don't and I won't. Again, that's all up to you. If you'll come up as I read your name and grab a copy of the syllabus of required work for this class, that would be great."

A quick glance at Gabriel told Castiel that he'd done a great job. He let out a breath and let himself smile a little.

The rest of that class and the next went by in a blur. The students hadn't spoken out of turn and let him get through his entire lesson plan for the day with a little time to spare. Most appeared bored when he lectured but he could deal with that as long as they listened. The kids were just coming off vacation so he understood their attention was taken by texting and sniggering about parties they had gone to, but he did have a job to do and he knew how to do it. He'd taken away three cell phones in the first class and four in the second. Detention was threatened but never handed out – that would be cruel for the first day. When he got back to the teacher's lounge for lunch he sighed heavily until his lungs were empty and he let out a little squeak. This was only the first day and already he was stressed to the max.

"You look like you could use a drink." A buttery British voice said from behind him. As Castiel whipped around to see who had spoken and looked at the owner of that voice, he couldn't help but to stare. The man was good looking, but not really his type. He had on a black tailored blazer suit that screamed unfavored mafia son and his hair stuck out in a supposedly styled manner. His teeth had to have been soaked in bleach for a month for his mouth to be so white.

Castiel cleared his throat. "I did not know we were allowed to drink on the job."

The man laughed. "Not generally, no, but Uriel, one of the math teachers, does. Keeps a fifth of Jack in his middle drawer if you're interested." He made a motion toward the door with his thumb hitched out to go get it but Castiel shook his head.

"I think my first day shouldn't be finished here by leaving drunk, but thank you..." Drawing out the end of the sentence, Castiel tipped his eyebrows up, silently asking for the man to fill it in with his name.

"Forgive me. Balthazar McDaniels, drama department head and teacher. You must be that new fellow, yes? Cassy Novak?"

"Castiel."

Balthazar gave him an indulgent smile. "Yes, yes. So how about that drink later tonight? Gabriel and I are heading over to a little club here in town if you would like to join us."

Thinking it over for only a moment, he replied, "That's a very nice offer..."

"What in the bloody hell have you gotten me into!" Castiel was slammed in the back of the head from behind with a badly aimed hand that nearly toppled him over. Crowley continued as though he hadn't almost given his best friend a concussion. "This is an even worse school than the one we left, and that's saying something."

"Why? Was it because none of the students will listen to you or because none of the staff want to have sex with you?" Castiel asked with a snicker.

Crowley vibrated with something close to indignant laughter. "Both!"

"Crowley, meet Balthazar, the drama teacher." Castiel introduced, trying not to giggle at his friend's ungodly behavior.

Attitude changing immediately, Crowley purred in what Castiel assumed was his sexy, seducing tenor, "Hey there." Reaching out to shake Balthazar's hand, he smiled somewhat creepily.

"Don't think it's going to happen."

Crowley dropped his hand and shook his head. "What does a gay man have to do to get laid around here?"

Balthazar grinned.

As the two began chatting about clubs and raves, Castiel padded over to the window that overlooked the campus. He loved it here. The grass was a vibrant green that stood out against the antiqued brown of the school buildings. The trees provided shade for the warmer months where he could sit and grade. Being in the middle of town, the school was the perfect place for kids to be because it was surrounded with cafes and delis and parks, all serving to students and tourists.

His gaze was moving toward the parking lot when he saw a young man that caught his eye. He wanted to look away and stop any thoughts before they could build into anything, but then something made him pause. Narrowing his eyes to try for better scrutiny, he could tell he didn't go to the school. Or, at least, not now. The guy wasn't carrying any books or a bag with him and his clothes were sub-par for many of the students that attended. No, he couldn't be a student. His conclusion had nothing to do with the fact that Castiel would love to bend the guy over any flat surface and...

"Cassy! I take it back. I love it here. We're going out tonight to celebrate!" Crowley crowed from across the room as Balthazar snickered.

He smiled at them. When he turned back the guy was gone.


	2. Sam's Got a Girl, Dean's Got a Guy

_A/n: Beta'd by the amazing AngelisIgniRelucent ! Thank you hun!_

_Thank you guys for the alerts and reviews! I'm so happy you like it._

_On to the next part!_

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><p>What You Do When No One's Looking<p>

Part 2

Sam maintained that he failed the test. Not taking into account that he'd never failed any test he'd taken in the history of his schooling, Sam wouldn't let it go. They both sat at the table, two packages of Ramen Noodles, each in a cracked bowl. Dean slurped another forkful into his mouth and said around the food, "You aced it. Don't worry."

Sam just kept on worrying.

They began going on about random topics between bites, but they both kept glancing at the clock. Dean had to work soon.

He nearly choked on a mound of chicken noodles when Sam murmured, "There's this girl."

"Who is she?" Dean croaked after he dislodged a chunk from his throat. Sam, Dean knew, had never had a girlfriend, and him bringing up any girl meant that he'd over-thought every angle about her and what they could be before he said anything to Dean. Truth be told, Dean was waiting for this to happen; he could always use another thing to pick on Sammy about.

Sam blushed. "Jessica Moore. She's in two of my classes. Accelerated Brit Lit and Calculus." The blush deepened. "She's pretty."

"Aww. Sammy's got a crush." He sing-songed as he rose from his seat to place his bowl in the sink. Well, on the counter; he needed to actually do some dishes.

"Shut up."

When he meandered past Sam's sitting frame he ruffled that mop of hair and smirked as Sam hurried to fix it. "My little brother is growing up."

"I'm grown up." Sam pouted.

Dean's laugh reached somewhere around his toes. "Yeah. That face, right there, tells me you're all grown up."

Before Dean crossed the room he heard a soft, "Do you think she'd say yes if I asked her out?"

Not being one that was very good with signals other than 'I want to fuck you right now', Dean had nothing to offer his little brother about people. He didn't want to disappoint Sam, but girls were definitely not his thing. "You should. If she goes out of her way to talk to you, sits next to you in class, and smiles every time you look at her then yeah, you should. Ask her out for coffee or something."

"You really think so?" Sam asked hopefully and seriously, Dean must have missed some serious signals if his brother was this nervous talking to him about a girl.

"Absolutely."

A shiny toothed grin split across Sam's face. "Thanks, Dean."

Gulping nervously, Dean nodded, said a quick goodbye, tugged on his boots, and left. Locking the door before heading toward the street Dean cursed. How could he not have realized Sam needed to talk about that? How could Sam be that insecure about himself? His upbringing when dad was around certainly hadn't helped but he thought he'd straightened Sam out after the first few weeks. Sammy'd even smiled a few times back then when Dean did something brotherly like play catch or go to a rehearsal. The kid never said anything, but Dean knew his brother missed their dad. Dean also knew it was irrational to feel the sick curl of jealousy and a cheap shot to his pride when he thought about it, but he knew he treated Sam like a king compared to the best day when dad was happy and sober. Not that it had happened often.

Dean laughed slightly at the thought of pride in his life. He sucked cock and got fucked by cheese dicks every night. This miserable existence had no place for pride. He'd hide it away, tuck it in a locked box somewhere off to the side, and when he left this part of his life behind him he could take it back out, dust it off, and shake it out like an old coat before shrugging it back on to see if it still fit. That was, if he ever got out. The only hope he had was that when that time came he would then be able to look himself in the mirror and see a man he could respect. Maybe then he could be the man Sam should be able to look up to.

Turning away from thoughts that would only make him depressed, he shook his head to clear it and continued on, lighting a cigarette. The city lights he was ambling toward were elegant candles compared to the dollar store Votives that were the apartments on the outskirts of town he and Sam lived in. He could never quit thinking about the significance of the dingy, stop-and-rob convenience store that marked the boundary between poor and somewhat middle-class, and how he never would cross that line except to do work and to pick up Sam from school. No one seemed to even glance at Dean's side of town, and if they did they forgot the moment their curiosity passed.

Nearing his usual streetlight he slowed, shifting his hips in an exaggerated sway, he pulled his almost empty pack out and placed a cigarette between his lips. It was around nine and he figured he could squeeze a few in early and actually get some sleep tonight if the customers were prowling like he hoped. He flicked the lighter. Sparks flew and caught alight as he pressed it to the end of the stick. Taking a deep inhale Dean glanced around. Traffic was light but a few cars slowed enough to get a good look and Dean tried to smile. It was harder than usual to put Sammy out of his mind.

What would Sam say if he knew Dean did this for a living? He had no idea what he would do if his brother ever found out. Sam would be crushed; he would say it was his fault Dean had to sell his body every night he could to pay rent and buy a full belly. He'd go on and on about how if dad hadn't left, Dean wouldn't have had to take on the responsibilities he'd left behind and fill the void of father as well as the role of brother he was doing the best he could at. Whatever Dean said would go in one ear and out the other, never touching that place in Sam's brain that made things make sense because his guilt would be so big nothing else could fit. And yeah, Dean would pound it in the kid's head of it came to that, but he didn't want it to. He wanted Sam to continue on thinking Dean to be a good guy, albeit rough around the knees. No, Dean couldn't let that happen.

He was stolen from his rambling thoughts when a sleek black SUV glided to a stop by his feet. Dean thought for a moment that it would take him years to earn enough to buy that car before he flashed what was supposed to be a flirtatious grin at the lowering window and a question of how much.

"Fifty for a blow and a hundred for a fuck, either way. Anything rough costs extra." Dean purred the menu to the man, leaning slightly backward and flashing a line of flesh between his shirt and low-riding jeans.

The guy thought a moment. "Deal."

"Where do you wanna do this?"

"My own alley comes at no extra charge. There's a motel around the corner at forty an hour." the _but it really shouldn't take that long_ going unsaid. Dean didn't boast about his abilities in bed but he knew he was good. Thus his career.

At the sound of the door opening and click of the lock engaging Dean slid a leering smile onto his lips and walked backwards toward the darkened alley. This would be better for him – he could suck or fuck here and be back at his post quicker than the motel.

His back had just barely hit the wall when the customer spoke. "On your knees."

Dean dropped with finesse, his knees kissing the ground softly. The guy had his fly open and his dick in Dean's face hurriedly as though he was afraid Dean would come to his senses and back out. Smiling reassuringly, though Dean thought it came out a little lopsided, he gripped the cock firmly and guided it to his lips.

The guy fucked his mouth slow, the drag and pull across Dean's tongue salty and clean for once. Not that it mattered. Dean closed his lips around the skin, hollowed his cheeks, and sucked his way to the root, the John gasping at the tight fit. Hands enveloped Dean's head, gentle but firm, holding him in place so the hips were fucking him steadily at pace Dean could not choose. Relaxing his throat, Dean laved his tongue along the vein on the underside of the cock and tipped his head back enough so the cock could travel as far as it wanted down his throat. Sure enough, that did the trick; shuddering breaths left the John as he pumped faster, harder, quicker into Dean's mouth, his face morphing into a parody of Barney until he stopped suddenly, popping his cork. The John trembled. Dean cleaned him up, swallowing like a good boy, and gently tucked him back in his slacks.

When the guy plucked his wallet from his jacket he seemed nervous. He was shaking slightly, giving off that _I really hope my wife doesn't find out about this_ vibe that made Dean want to laugh. There were only a few things a man couldn't do with a man with his eyes closed, thinking about a woman, and having his dick sucked wasn't one of them. Fucking a man, yeah, you knew, but a throat was a throat as far as he was concerned.

Dean tucked the money away into the sole of his shoe for safe keeping as the guy turned away and practically ran to his car. Coughing slightly, he felt the scratch of his throat and sighed. He fished his little bottle of mouthwash from his back pocket and swished, desperately trying to rid himself of the taste of cum. It wasn't that he hated it - it was because he had done it for money. The creamy bitterness tasted like self-hatred. He shook his head. Spitting, Dean let it all go and shuffled back to back to his post.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>"Cassy... Cas-say!" Crowley crowed as he rested his bottle on the bar and pulled him close, sticky warm breath wafting into his face. "You, love, need to dance! Frolic!"<p>

Balthazar and Gabriel had left them as soon as the group had waltzed through the entrance, not that Castiel had thought it would be any different. They had, surprisingly, stopped in now and again to check on them. Or, more likely, on Castiel. He had still been hesitant about clubbing on a school night and had made such thoughts known numerous times on the car ride over, much to the dissatisfaction of his friends.

Castiel felt the beat, a strong thump, pelt his body in a satisfying punch. The lights were swinging from the ceiling, making streams of color dart from place to place over the crowd and the bar, illuminating the gyrating bodies with rainbows. Most of the patrons tonight were men, thrusting bodies twirling around one another, glitter sticking to every bead of sweat. The lights dimmed even lower as the music slowed, the song changing to an equally up-beat tune that lit the lights up once more.

A soft tap on the shoulder and a gust of breath breezing into his ear, as well as a "Hey there beautiful, I'm Matt.", told him someone wanted his attention.

"Umm... Hello. I'm Castiel." He mumbled as the mildly attractive guy took his hand and escorted him to the dance floor.

They fell into a soft and comfortable sway, Matt's hands running smoothly over Castiel's hipbones, thumbs brushing just under the hem of his snug V-neck while Castiel held on to his dance partners shoulders. As the music changed and the beat sped up even more, they rocked harder, faster, keeping time with undulating chests as their breathing became fast with excitement and exertion. Castiel let himself go. He felt the lure of contentment draw him in as Matt's arms held him closer.

When the next song ended Castiel motioned to the bar and pointed to his throat, miming that he was thirsty and was heading back. He thought he was lucky to reach the same stretch of bar he had left but let that thought go when he saw Crowley trying to choke a pretty-boy with his tongue.

"I would love to meat you." He heard his friend tell his tonsil wrestling partner as he ordered a water.

The guy frowned. "But you already introduced yourself... thoroughly."

Castiel instantly felt bad for him.

"No, love. M-e-a-t."

"You're sick." Pretty-boy chuckled, yanking Crowley back in for a long, wet kiss.

"You're hot."

Matt joined him as he fell onto a stool. Twisting the cap with earnest, he yanked it off and tipped the bottle so the water fell freely down his throat. He set it back down and gazed at the man by his side from the corner of his eye. Could he simply let go and be happy with him? He really wasn't that bad looking, though looks weren't what Castiel was after. Matt was one hell of a dancer, his smile was sweet and he didn't crowd Castiel, choosing to simply hold on to him gently and let him sway as he wanted.

Castiel tsked as he found the answer to be no.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Matt smiled, showing white teeth and shiny eyes but Castiel wasn't lost in them.

"For wasting your night. Dancing was fun but..." He let the sentence hang, letting Matt take from it what he would.

The man just smiled and leaned in to place a soft kiss to Castiel's cheek. "No worries. I had fun." His eyes sparkled with something akin to happiness laced with disappointment, but his smile was genuine. He patted Castiel's shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. A final smile and he was lost in the crowd.

Glaring at Crowley when he drew the pretty-boy onto his lap, Castiel sighed. The rainbow lights were a little too gay for his liking.

About an hour and two apple martini's later, Balthazar shoved his way through the crowd carrying a passed out Gabriel in his arms, head cradled in Balthazar's neck. "Ready to head out?"

Castiel hastily agreed.

* * *

><p>It wasn't that Dean didn't like sex, he loved it, but he was beginning to think that he was losing his touch. It was Friday now, a few days since that blow-job with that John, and he had only had four fucks since. That would only cover rent for two weeks. Now, he knew the economy was bad, but really? Men were always ready to cheat on their partners, so why the hell not pay for a guarantee and not go through the trouble of wooing and dinners and crap? Dean was an awesome lay and was worth every penny. He'd been told so several times.<p>

Sam, for some reason, chose _tonight_ to talk about how Dean was never around to pay attention to him; how he was always gone to work or sleeping because he slept so late into the day so he would be awake for his night shift then crashed when he got home. It was as if he were jealous of his Johns – not that he knew anything about them – and wanted Dean all to himself. Brother's sometimes sucked when it came to making money.

"God fuckin' dammit, Sam! What the hell!" Dean boomed as he threw the milk jug back into the fridge. They'd been at this for thirty minutes already. Sam kept saying he was never home, never around, didn't seem to care, which was so off the mark he wanted to throttle the kid. He was doing what he could to put food in his brother's stomach and ass in class while saving up everything else for him to go to college next year. Same as he'd been doing for the past four years – ever since he'd graduated high school and dad left. Why he had to choose now to bring it up was really pissing Dean off.

Sam huffed. Tossing his bangs out of his eyes for the fifth time in as many minutes, he glared at Dean. "You missed my mathlete competition last month, the play I had a _lead role_ in two weeks ago, and now a parent-teacher's conference! I know you work a lot but I need you here sometimes. I need my brother, Dean." His glare had reduced to a pout throughout his little speech and Dean really couldn't help it if his anger slipped a few notches; he couldn't stay angry with Sammy.

To make it up to the milk, Dean closed the fridge gently with a soft snick and turned. As he rested his hands on the counter top, fingernails dragging across the surface, he spoke softly. "It's work, Sam. I need to work to keep this place. Rent's not free, you know."

There was a huff behind him. "That's why I should get a job to help, Dean! That's all I want! You work too hard and never have time to do anything for yourself. When was the last time you saw a movie, Dean? When was the last time you did something that didn't benefit anyone else?"

Dean was going to reply, he really was, but nothing would come because Sammy was right. Just like always. He really hadn't done anything for himself in the last four years. Everything had been done for Sam. Even so, he wasn't upset or sad over that. Dean was happy Sam would have a good, set future that would allow him to do anything he wanted. That was what Dean wanted. Anything else was extra.

"Sammy..."

"No, Dean, you need to stop. You're running yourself too thin and I can help you. Just let me." The words were said with irritation, but Dean knew his brother, and Sam was as close to begging as he'd ever seen him.

Dean did his best to smile. "I'll take Saturdays off?" He offered. That would cut his 'pay' by about a third. He didn't want to, but Sam was more important.

"Just... Dean, I don't know what you're doing, but placating me won't work. Let me do my job as a brother. I need you to do yours too."

That – that stupid pride – ran amok in his stomach. How dare Sam say he wasn't doing his job? Dad had told Dean to watch over his brother and he was doing it, dammit! He was doing the best he knew how, couldn't Sam see that? Shaking his head fiercely, cracking it with the force, Dean ground out, "I'm going out."

Sam immediately bristled. "Out where?"

"None of your fucking concern, that's where." He circled his brother. He knew that if he touched him he might strike out and that he wouldn't allow. No one hurt Sam, not even him.

He needed to get drunk. Fast.

* * *

><p>A few days passed in a blur of lectures and bad lighting and suddenly it was Friday. Castiel had no idea how the days that had been filled with stress were gone in the flutter of wings. Not that he was complaining - neither were any of the other teachers.<p>

Especially Gabriel.

"Thank fuck!" He'd bellowed as the door to the faculty lounge crashed open. Castiel winced in sympathy and wondered how the handle hadn't cracked the wall. "I'm going to get drunk. Who's with me?"

That's how he found himself in front of the full length mirror in his room in loose-fitting blue slacks and a black Henley, Crowley sprawled on his bed, scrutinizing him. The infuriating man was already dressed in all black like always. His skin-tight clothes were glued on and hugging his man curves as he called them.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Then what?" Castiel growled. He'd gone through his entire wardrobe, a pitiful assortment, and this was the best he was able to come up with. He didn't have time between class, grading, and Crowley to go shopping.

"That's too school teachery." Crowley pondered out loud with a put-upon, what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you look.

Castiel gave a long-suffering sigh. "Then what would you suggest?" He growled.

His friend turned his face up toward the heavens and must have gotten a response because he shot off the bed and left (without fixing the bedspread, the bastard). Castiel was reduced to pitiful whimpers of frustration by the time he had come back.

"Here. Spill anything on them tonight and I will smash your tea cups."

At that, Castiel growled but was still handed the pants. When he unfolded them, however, he threw them back, the legs curling around the sides of Crowley's head. "No."

"No?"

"No."

Five minutes later he was sliding the denim over his backside and pulling up the zipper.

"Perfect." Crowley purred as his fingers groped Castiel's ass.

Castiel slapped the hands away, but they just came back. Another smack got him one in return. "They're too tight." He complained, turning a little to get a look at what his friend was grabbing, but was pulled back.

"They're perfect. Shut the fuck up."

Tugging around the crotch, he grumbled, "They show _everything_."

"Exactly." Crowley said as he smiled and kneaded again.

"Are you sure?"

"I'd fuck you." Crowley said matter-of-factly.

"You already have."

"I'd do it again."

Castiel threw his body into the shove he gave his friend to get him out of the room to hide the grin that split his face. Leave it to Crowley to bring sex into every conversation they have. He could almost swear the guy wanted to see how hard he could push.

"When are Gabe and Balth supposed to show up?"

"Around eight so..." A quick glance at the clock and he continued. "about fifteen minutes. Why don't you go fluff your hair? By the time you're ready the should be here." Castiel knew Crowley would never admit it, but the guy loved his hair. When they first moved in together, Crowley had spent at least an hour in the bathroom each morning trying to gel and brush his hair to the best look. It always looked the same. They may have come to hate each other if it weren't for the en-suite Castiel had in his room. Now, they both had to share the one. Castiel didn't take any longer than necessary after his showers in there because his friend would whine. He couldn't hold back the laugh when he heard Crowley grumble on the other side of the door.

It was a half an hour before their friends decided to show up, clothes and hair flustered looking. Balthazar's casual blazer was buttoned askew and Gabriel's leer wasn't even partially hidden by the Twizzler that stuck out from his kiss-bitten lips.

"Who's ready to get their freak on?" Gabriel exclaimed as he tugged another red treat from somewhere.

"It appears your freak has already been gotten on. Or in, whichever the case." Castiel dead-panned.

A scoff and chuckle sounded behind Gabriel and the guy scowled. "Yeah, whatever. My freak has been freaked. Made me happy and you're fucking with my mellow. Cut the shit and let's go."

The all crowded into Gabriel's Prius, much to the entertainment of Crowley, who called shotgun. Castiel made sure to buckle in and checked it three times – he didn't trust his friend to get them there without injury.

"No drinking tonight Gabriel or I'm going to shave your head after you pass out." Crowley fluffed the mop around for emphasis.

Gabriel patted his hair, trying to sooth its hurt feelings and calm it down. It didn't work. "That would be overkill." He grumbled.


	3. Jo Doesn't Like Dick

Thank you everyone who's commented! That makes me so happy! :)

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><p>What You Do When No One's Looking<p>

Part 3

Tossing the filter of the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out, the stench of smoke still clinging to his jacket, he grunted a hello to some stragglers and fellow cancer-stick lovers before entering the club. The lights in the club he entered were almost non-existent except for the swirling and swerving the strobes that hung from the ceiling let out. Crowded as it was, no one minded. A mob of gyrating bodies had flooded the dance floor an hour ago, singles, groups, and people simply looking for a good time. Dean had shimmed his way through the walls of heat to the bar and immediately thrown back two shots of the good stuff and now sat with a beer in one hand and his eyes surveying the pickings that looked pretty slim. He didn't go for looks – a fine ass and lips made for kissing never hurt – so much as a good dancer. If they could move their hips on the floor they could move them in a bed.

"I can hear you thinking from over here."

Swerving the bar stool around, Dean smiled warmly at Jo. Ellen, Jo's mother, owned The Roadhouse, the bar on the other side of town for hicks and grumpy old men, but her daughter here catered to all sorts. Eric's Scandal wasn't really a place that could be categorized. They let everyone in as long as they made it past the bouncer out front. Caleb was a hard-ass though, so really it was only people who paid him enough were coming in. Jo smirked as she ran the towel over the bar top again.

"You caught me." Dean tipped the bottle back and drained it, a small trail slipping through his lips and running down his chin. Wiping it away, he set the bottle down and tipped the top toward Jo. She silently traded it for a fresh one. "Aw, baby, you treat me so well."

"Shut the fuck up. You're just lucky I don't collect on your tab." Her glare and snarl came out too adorable to be frightening.

"Marry me?"

"I don't like dick." She purred before scampering off down the bar to serve a customer who was waving a twenty.

He twisted the cap off his new brew and took a few sips. Deciding to search on foot, he shoved away from his seat.

Most of the guys here weren't his type; too short, too tall, too hairy, too _something._ He had no idea why nothing was catching his eye. Usually anyone would do, but tonight seemed different, felt different, and he couldn't put his finger on it. There was no need to worry though. If it came to it, he would even fuck Caleb. When he needed a good lay this bad, even he would sink that low.

Almost a whole trek around the place landed him hip to hip with a newly legal boy-toy, and half a song lead to the guy riding his leg. Dean let his arms enfold the slightly shorter man, both settling on his hips that swayed just right to the music. He let his captured leg travel upward, strong thighs cradling it all the way up to a half-hard cock that twitched at his touch. Nothing spectacular, but he wasn't the one who would be riding dick.

"What's your name?" The treat hummed in his ear as his hand wandered to Dean's backside.

"Jensen." Dean breathed against the guys neck to make him shiver. "What's yours?" Letting his leg brush just so against his dance partner he heard a whimper.

"Ungh... Paul. Yeah, so good..." Paul whined, his fingers of one hand trailing up Dean's back to get a better grip while the other hand massaged Dean's hipbone under his shirt.

Still shuffling along to the beat, Dean curled a hand around Paul's neck and kissed him. It was nothing amazing as far as first kisses go – his heart didn't leap and his hands stayed dry, but it was a needed kiss all the same. Dean needed to feel something from one of his chosen lovers, even something as simple as lust, just to hold a piece of his humanity. The demanding ache in his heart couldn't be met with a Johns' money but the tongue of a willing man, and as Paul keened into the taste of Dean's mouth, Dean figured he'd found a way to assuage that for the night.

* * *

><p>"Gabriel, stop!" Crowley called as the short bastard scurried through the crowd toward the bar. He hadn't promised to not drink, simply that he'd be careful. Logically, this means he'll do his best to not mix his liquor. It was something.<p>

Castiel paid his friends no mind as he himself was smothered by bodies on his way through. The night wasn't going as well as he'd liked and figured a beer or two would calm his nerves and settle his constant bed hair.

A half an hour later he was two beers and one apple martini drunker but nowhere near better. The music was getting to him. He kept trying to sway to the beat but the damn chair was rubbing his ass too roughly for it to look like anything other than him having an itch. No one had ever called him a good dancer, or a good fuck (except Crowley, but he'd fuck anything), and he stood, giving a slight wave to the lady behind the bar to stray toward the crowd and see if he could get lost.

Apparently that wasn't allowed to happen because not two songs alone with his eyes closed had Crowley in front of him, hands wound around Castiel's hips, thumbs in his belt loops. "And who are you, lovely?" Crowley whispered in his ear, mouth grazing his lobe.

"Fuck off. I'm dancing."

The response was to be pulled even closer.

"You looked awfully occupied. I wanted to interrupt."

Castiel groaned for Crowley to shut up and get with the beat, making his friends' smirk widen. They went on like that through a number of songs before he felt more than heard Crowley laugh.

"Who needs to sparkle like Edward Cullen when all a man needs is a little oil to shine like a new penny?" Crowley chuckled as he nodded toward their left, away from the bar.

When Castiel saw the oiled barbarian, (seriously, who had that kind of muscle outside a Harlequin novel?), he cackled himself. "Seriously?"

"Mmm... New penny."

He laughed harder. "You're sick."

"I'm adventurous, which is more than I can say for you." Crowley replied, an eyebrow raised in challenge. Fingers traveling upwards, one landed higher on Castiel's waist and the other curved around Castiel's neck, resting on the top of his spine.

Taking in the crowd of people around them, Castiel froze. Literally froze right in Crowley's arms, hips stopping dead. That guy, the one from the school's parking lot, was right there. Five feet from where he was, the guy who had stolen the thoughts Castiel had when he was alone, was dancing protectively around some little blond tramp. A tramp who was riding his muse's leg. Blood began to boil in his neck and Crowley must have felt the rise in temperature because he heard next to his ear, "Find something you like, adventure boy?"

He just nodded. When Crowley followed his gaze he chuckled darkly. "What, you want him?"

Again, he nodded.

His friend trailed his tongue up the side of Castiel's cheek that faced him and hummed. A soft purr of "Then what are you waiting for?" sounded in his ear and he was off like he was being chased.

Castiel's feet moved as though they knew the way to the one person who had clouded his mind for the last few days. It felt like it took forever to cross the few feet between them, a great ocean of hardwood and stale split beer. In that time, he didn't come up with a plan further than to separate the parasite from his man. Arguably, he was a little tipsy, but he held his liquor well enough to know that this was a phenomenally bad idea, but his traitorous feet kept lifting and dropping in the man's direction. For lack of a better direction he went for it – he gripped the back of the shrimps' shirt and yanked him away and spared him a glare, making the little guy cringe and shy away poor thing, and pounced. As his tongue swept across those plump lips he'd jerked off to enough times to leave him with rug burn, he knew he'd found the place he wanted to be.

* * *

><p>He hadn't seen the drop dead sexy guy until the boy-toy was ripped from his fingers. Dean wasn't able to get a good look at him besides a flash of blue before lips were crushed to his with a tease of tongue.<p>

The press was somewhere between frantic and familiar and he didn't know something as simple as a kiss could affect him like this anymore. Nerves he hadn't known existed warmed and twitched to be closer to the owner of that wicked mouth, his toes curling in appreciation for the man's talent. He could fucking _kiss_.

Dean was at a loss with what to do with his hands so he rested them on the guy's waist. When those lips pulled away from his, he couldn't help the very tiny needy whimper that escaped him – those lips were all he wanted. Fuck fucking or getting fucked; lips like that had to be able to do the job when paired with that tongue.

"Who's that?" He heard near his ear as a nibble on his neck sent shivers _everywhere_.

Dazed, he asked, "Who?"

"Scrawny leg humper."

Dean somehow found a laugh amongst the butterflies tearing at his insides. "He left." He replied after glancing over mystery guy's shoulder. "I'm more interested in getting to know who you are, though. Satisfaction slithered through him when he ran his palm over the ridge of his hipbones and the guy trembled.

"Castiel." The man told him.

He smiled, lips stretching and tipping upwards. "Hey, Cas. I'm Dean." If Cas didn't want to divulge his last name, two could play at that game. Cas just hummed into the hollow of Dean's throat. The tip of his tongue touched Dean's hot skin, making the muscles tighten and release in pleasure.

They danced and swayed along to the thrusts and rubbing of the others in the crowd, becoming lost to everything but the feel of sweat-slick skin playing tag and hot pants fluttering over each other's necks.

* * *

><p>"Nice place." Dean said as he took in the small entryway and the part of the living room he could see. The car ride over, which as done in the impala with fingers digging into thighs and eyes meeting, had been something interesting. It wasn't that he hadn't been instantly attracted to a night's stand; it was that he had never been that into any sense of foreplay before. The tension hadn't been uncomfortable. Far from it. Those blue eyes screamed of a good time and the ability to deliver and if the peddle pushed the car a little over the speed limit, oh well. Now that they were at Cas' place, though, Dean was feeling a bit anxious.<p>

Castiel stumbled slightly as he tried to tug his shoe off. "My roommate would disagree." He laughed.

"I bet that's because of the picture of the mangy pup here." Dean replied, smirking as he stared at the adorable pooch. The folds of skin and fur were so ugly it was cute. With a younger Castiel's arms wrapped around its neck, choking it, the dog was smiling, tongue lulling out the side of its mouth.

"Probably. Rufus had attacked Crowley the first time they met. It was hilarious."

Dean smirked. "Roommate didn't like dogs?"

Castiel's smile faltered slightly. "No, the landlord didn't."

Well, didn't that make Dean feel like shit. "Sorry." He mumbled, shuffling his feet a moment. He hadn't meant to make his night's fun upset.

"No worries. My parents did. Yearly visitation rights."

Nodding, Dean shimmed his leather jacket down his arms and rested it over the back of the chair in front of him. Now that he was here, he didn't really know where to begin. The guy was odd. Not like loony bin odd, but the kind where you don't really know if you'll survive, and that kind of scared Dean. They were here, there was a bed somewhere, and he really needed to get this moving along if he was going to get home before Sam morphed into the housewife he was when Dean was late.

Pulling the slightly shorter man against him, fingers playing with the hemline of the shirt that would look better on the floor, Dean murmured before his lips teased tempting skin. "Don't think your parents would approve of this."

Those fancy fingers dragged through his hair, found a grip, and pulled him back. "Shut the fuck up and kiss me."

Ignoring the flip of his heart at the words, Dean gripped Cas by the shoulders and spun them around, totally man-like, and dropped Cas on the couch. Climbing on to straddle him, Dean had a moment to think about whether or not this was the way he usually did this before Cas attacked him; those lips crushed his and that tongue swam while soft hands caressed his shoulders and arms so lovingly that for a minute he forgot this was a one night stand. Cas's hands grounded him, cradled him. He pulled back when reality reminded him of the situation.

"What's wrong?" Cas asked him as he ran those wonderful fingers through his hair. "Did I do something wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "No. Nothing's wrong." He knew he was lying, everything was wrong, _badbadwrong, _but he wanted this, needed this. His body itched to be closer, pressed against the firm chest he could feel below those clothes, having strong legs shove him into the couch and hear springs squeak. The rush of skin on skin pulled his legs tighter around the thighs underneath him and pressed his chest down so their faces were level. Bringing his hand up, he rested it against Cas' cheek. 'You're different.' Dean thought. 'You're better than this.'

Cas kissed his palm. "We don't need to do anything, you know." Lips pulled back to reveal perfect teeth. "I don't usually do this."

'I know' Dean thought ruefully. "You sure?" He didn't want to push this guy. Usually he did, a little, because he knew they wanted it and were playing hard to get. This guy though, with his eyes and smiles and hands, made Dean want to do whatever he wanted. He would even leave if he was asked.

"Go slow?" Came the shy question.

Dean smiled. "Whatever you want."

They kissed for a while, exploring muscles and tonsils before Castiel turned a little, dislodging Dean. When Dean sat, Cas moved above Dean to lay atop him. Dean would have protested, that he was the top, but the moment the body settled over him, he calmed. This felt right. It wasn't like with the other men – Castiel never forced, never tried to get Dean to bend to his will. Even worse, Dean felt safe. He hated safe. It made him want to keep the guy forever. He needed it, though. He needed to feel like nothing could touch him while he was with Cas, that the world would stop for them for a little bit. That the world would stop and let him have this.

"Is this okay?" Castiel asked. His fingers ran through Dean's hair again, making him purr.

"This is great." He hated himself for relishing these feelings. Moaning when Castiel's leg came between his to rest against him, he whimpered, "This is perfect."


	4. Everyone Hates Crowley

Thank you all so much for the story alerts and reviews! They really make my day!

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><p>What You Do When No One's Looking<p>

Part 4

"So?" Crowley beamed as he brought the mug up to his lips to blow across the top. "How was it?"

Castiel groaned. Why had he told his friend about last night? It had been perfect. Dean had writhed and moaned underneath him, those eyes he wanted to see again closing constantly as if to savor the pleasure running through that body. What a body it had been, too. What he'd seen of it anyway. Castiel could tell Dean hadn't wanted to go all the way, and truth be told he'd been hesitant as well, so they'd settled on an awesome rutting that left them both spent, sated, and exhausted. He hadn't wanted Dean to leave so soon afterward, but it was really for the best – if Crowley had stumbled in and found them together, Castiel would never have forgiven himself. Dean didn't seem like the type to like being seen vulnerable. "I really, really don't want to talk about this with you."

Feigning shock, Crowley sucked in a breath and widened his eyes, his hand resting above his heart. "That's terrible! I tell you everything. In vivid detail. The least you could do is do the same for me." Pouting, he sipped his coffee, eyes boring into Castiel as he did so.

"It's... private." He said low.

The man seemed to ponder this for a moment, rolling the flavor of it over his tongue and coming up wanting. "Private like it's weird to tell a past conquest about a recent rumble or private like _private_?"

Castiel thought about that as he himself sipped his morning tea. It was a one night thing, at least to Dean. Why else would the guy have run off and not left his number? Then again, when he'd licked the strip up the side of Dean's cheek and kissed his pulse, Dean had whimpered, had tightened his grip on Castiel's biceps, had held him closer. When he'd murmured how beautiful he thought Dean was when he moaned, Dean had turned his head toward him and looked at him, really looked at him, before he'd kissed him with such submission, such passion, that Castiel couldn't breathe. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about last night, he simply didn't want to _share_ it. It was that kind of private. When he said so, Crowley laughed.

"What, are you becoming smitten with this guy? You've seen him every day outside the school – I've seen you watching him, darling – and now you won't tell me how it turned out? If he was all you thought he would be?" Crowley had set his drink down and was now staring at him, his head resting in his hands.

"You tell me about your conquests because you love to gloat."

"I don't gloat about you."

Castiel scoffed good-naturedly. "I was the best you ever had, so of course not." He laughed.

"Good point." Taking up his drink again, he said, "All I'm saying is, this guy is the first one in a long time since me, since Jimmy. You have that look about you. The same one you had with that asshole who broke you heart. Now, tell me, is he worth it?"

That was a very big question. Castiel had no idea of what the answer would be, and that scared the hell out of him.

* * *

><p>Dean squatted on the stoop outside Sam and his apartment, running last night through his head, trying to make sense of it. On the one hand, the sex was great for what it was. It reminded him of when Dad was home and Sam was in the other room, needing to be quiet with his boyfriend in his bedroom for fear of his father's wrath. The time that felt like forever ago when hand-jobs scared the crap out of him and all he could make himself do was lay down atop his guy and push and shove and <em>fuck<em> up against him, getting off on the newness, the guy, and the fear of getting caught.

Then again, the sex wasn't sex at all. What was a little rutting session compared to what he did for a living? Castiel had topped him – he still couldn't get over himself for letting that happen – and yet he couldn't have seen that happening any other way. He hadn't wanted to cover up all that power, that lust, but most of all he hadn't wanted to give up the luscious feeling of affection he received from Castiel. In his line of work, he saw his fair share of lust and want, but never affection. His motto was, 'Get it on, get it over with, get the cash', but with that blue-eyed guy it hadn't been that way.

Dean ran his eyes over the street in front of him. The sky had opened up and threw little white chills down upon the asphalt like it had personally offended it. Dean hated snow. It made him remember his mother and her love of making snow angels before returning inside for a steaming mug of cocoa that burned his throat before it reached his belly. He hated it because it made him want what he couldn't have again.

Glancing at his watch, he saw he had about a half hour before he needed to get to his spot, else some skank was going to take it. He tapped out another cigarette and sighed.

He'd just taken his third drag when he heard their apartment door swing open. "You really should quit. That shit will kill you."

As Sam sat next to him, Dean blew another drag from his lungs. "Everything kills you these days. Hell, that cell phone you're attached to all the time can give you a hernia."

"Cancer."

"Same difference."

He could feel Sam's eyes boring into the side of his face, trying to make him feel awkward enough to look at him. It was impossible to look at him though. Every time he even thought of looking at Sam, Dean felt his insides freeze and shrivel because he knew that someday he would give away his secret with one look, one glance, just by the hollow glaze of his eyes. Clearing his throat, he asked, "How's Jessica?"

What he saw of Sam's face told him his brother was nervous. "It's... great."

"Great?"

"Yeah, actually. She's amazing. Everyone listens to her when she talks, her parents are awesome. They always let us have the door closed when I go over... not that we do anything!" Sam added quickly when he saw Dean give him a look. "I mean, you know, if we did, would it be okay?"

Dean chuckled as he exhaled. "It's totally fine if you do, just be protected."

"That's it?" Sam gave him an incredulous, wide-eyed stare as if he couldn't believe his brother was being so okay with this, then turned his eyes down, not comfortable having this conversation at all, let alone on the stoop outside where anyone can see or hear them.

"Sam, you're growing up. You're becoming a man, hell, you are a man, and we've had the whole sex talk thing. You get it. Just, be protected and have fun. That's all I've got to say." Dean couldn't stress the protection enough. He barely held back the 'condom condom condom!' crap their mother yelled at him.

Sam smiled, actually smiled, and that made Dean's night. "You're actually being really cool about this. I thought you'd freak out." His laugh could melt Antarctica. It melted Dean's heart.

"You want to invite her to Christmas?" Dean blurted suddenly. His hand went to the back of his head and he coughed. "Um, you know, I haven't met her yet. I should." Right?

Sam smiled again. "Yeah. Definitely."

An hour later, Dean made his way to his corner. He wasn't as sure of himself as he usually was and he blamed himself for that. Sam had been so damn happy tonight to simply sit with him and watch TV, to sip sodas and watch crappy reruns, and Dean hadn't wanted to leave. Who in their right mind would want to leave that behind and let men run their hands over their bodies when they had a great time with their brother they hadn't had in years? Shaking his head, Dean scowled. 'Get it together.' he told himself.

His mood hadn't lightened through a blow-job and a fuck. The feel of those greasy hands rubbing and groping him left him shaken in a bad way, made shivers run up and down his spine as cum shot into his throat or filled the condom. He was shaking so hard that air was having a hard time making its way into his lungs. It hurt.

He blamed Sam's smiles and a pair of blue eyes he was never going to see again.

He swished the mouthwash for the fifth time that night and spat it out. The taste of cheese dick would not leave him alone. Sighing, he strolled back out toward his spot. 'Fuck it,' he mumbled to himself. 'it's too late to pick up a trick.'

Dean kicked up a tuft of snow on his way back to the Impala.

* * *

><p>The last class of the day finally left and Castiel slouched against the white board, wondering why in the hell he'd decided to work here in the first place. The kids were disrespectful and obnoxious, and all he thought about was Dean, Dean, <em>Dean<em>. Closing his eyes, he figured the mild headache didn't help matters. Neither did the fact that he couldn't find the balls to go out and see Dean when he walked by on campus during lunch break.

It's been six days since that night and Castiel couldn't think of anything but Dean.

Packing his papers to go home, he figured he deserved it. Crowley was probably right – he was getting attached. He couldn't help it. Dean was like a drug. Somehow, the guy had gotten underneath his skin, into every detail of Castiel's life in a few days.

"There's my lovely little man!"

"Gabriel, you're shorter than I am." Castiel laughed.

Snuffing, Gabriel said, "That's just because you were given tall genes. I was given attractive ones." He nodded his head to himself, patting himself on the back for a dig well given. "Now, are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

A sly, silken smile spread itself over Gabe's face. "They didn't tell you?" He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back as though withholding a secret.

"Tell me... about tonight?" Castiel hedged.

"Yeah."

"Are you going to tell me?" Castiel sighed. Gabriel could be over-dramatic and blew things out of proportion way too often for Castiel's liking. Even so, he wanted to know.

"What's the magic word?" Gabriel purred.

Castiel scrunched his eyes closed and smacked his hand against his forehead. Hard. "Fuck."

"Exactly."

Four hours and three changes of clothes later found Castiel back at the club. The lights were still swinging and swaying, illuminating the bodies that practically vibrated with need to frolic, fight, and fuck, in that order, on the dance floor. Balthazar had dragged him out there with the rest of the flock for a while, grinding to the beat, albeit a little off, until he begged for a drink. A strong one.

The same girl was working behind the bar and Castiel smiled. She was snarky. He really should set up a proper introduction for her and Gabe.

"What's your poison tonight, hot stuff?" She asked as she moved the cloth against the grain and tossing a saucy grin toward him.

Castiel cocked his head to the side like a bird and smiled. "Actually, I'm thinking just a coke tonight."

"Really?" She asked, serving up a few beers to a customer waving a twenty.

"Yeah. I, um, don't think drinking would be a very good idea tonight, especially considering what happened last week."

She gave him a searching look, one that swept him entirely, and bit her lip in consideration. "What happened?" It was a question, Castiel could feel the question mark at the end, but the words were said as though she already knew the answer. She probably did – she was a bartender after all. Must have heard it all.

"There was this guy..." He began.

"There always is."

Her smile was infectious. "Yeah. Well, we had ended up going back to my place and had a great time, but he left without leaving his number. It had been a guaranteed one night thing, but I just can't stop thinking about him." Bartenders, as it happens, really do get you to open up. Even when you're stone cold sober.

That look was about her face again as she handed him the glass of soda. "What does he look like?"

"A little taller than me, spiky brown hair, leather jacket. The greenest eyes I've ever seen. You could..." He coughed and looked at his hands that fiddled with a napkin. "You could get lost in them."

The bartender laughed good-naturedly. "I think I know who you're talking about. He's a nice guy." Sobering, she continued. "You just need to know that he's really good at putting on a front. He's going through a lot right now, and sometimes he's a dick. I'm not saying he wants nothing to do with you or is tracking you down as we speak to have his wicked way with you. All I can say, with absolute certainty, is that he's... pressured. If what you guys had was as great as you think it was, then he'll be back. Trust me. He needs some good people in his life."

"How do you know I'm good people?" Castiel couldn't help but ask.

"You help that blond guy keep the little one on a leash in my club. That's good enough for me." One last smile had her floating down the bar to tend another customer waving more money.


	5. Seriously, Everyone Hates Crowley

What You Do When No One's Looking

Part 5

"_We were both young when I first saw you..._"

Castiel smashed the snooze button and prayed for the day he figured out how to change that stupid song. Curling the covers back over his shoulders to keep in the warmth, he tried his best to fall back asleep. It would have worked, except Crowley came barreling in and threw himself on top of Castiel.

"Lovely morning, Cassie!"

Castiel grumbled in reply.

"Oh, don't be like that! Us guys are going out again tonight – different bar this time, in case you're wondering – and wanted to know if you would join us this evening?" Crowley began tugging on the covers when he didn't get an answer.

"How are you so fucking happy? Did you get laid last night?" Growling, Castiel stole back his sanctuary.

Crowley laughed. "A few times, actually. Beside the point, love. Will you be joining us on a man date?"

"Will there be more drinking?" Castiel hated hangovers, especially the one raging in his brain at the moment, but the alcohol numbed him to everything. Hell, it even made him open up and go after Dean a week ago... And there he goes again.

Crowley seemed to sense Castiel's train of thought. Tilting his head a little in a bad imitation of Castiel's confusion, he asked softly, "Do you need to get laid?" When all he got was a bitch-face, he sighed. "Was going to help out my boy, but never mind."

"I don't want to have sex with you, Crowley."

His friend nibbled his bottom lip in thought, then said in a serious tone, "What about Dean?"

Castiel grumbled something that sounded like 'fuck you' but could have been 'fuck me', slammed the still warm pillow against his face and sighed.

* * *

><p>Eight days had passed since the night on the blue-eyed guys couch and chills still swam up Dean's spine when he thought about it. He remembered in perfect clarity what it felt like to be in those arms. He had never wanted to leave them. It was like there was a mark somewhere on him – his heart or just in his mind, he didn't know – that screamed Castiel; a brand upon his being that wanted to never part from its maker. There was a constant reminder, a repeated undertone of '<em>CasCasCasCas...<em>' running through his veins as thick, sugary sludge that no amount of cum from strangers could touch.

Believe him, he'd tried.

He'd just left Sam at school after stealing him away for lunch at their favorite diner in town. As usual, Sam had been a girl and ordered a salad. Dean didn't understand it; that crap tasted like dirt and left him hungry again in an hour, no matter how much of it he ate. Then again, as long as he knew Sam was eating something, even rabbit food, he was eating. That was all that he cared about.

Now, trudging back through the college campus to the Impala, he stuffed his hands into his pockets when a few cute girls sauntered by, trying to capture his attention. He simply smiled and waved. Right when he was about to shove the key into his baby to unlock her, he heard his name said breathlessly. That voice he remembered whimpering his name just the same way.

"Dean, hold up a minute!" Castiel quickly scampered toward him. Dodging some loitering students, he finally stood next to Dean and smiled. "Um, hey. I just saw you going through and wanted to say hi. Obviously." He chuckled nervously.

Dean forced himself to grin. It was always difficult to see his former lovers on the streets, especially the one that has plagued his mind and left him with drenched boxers a few mornings in a row. He wasn't trying to be civil in the _we've fucked in an alley with my knees bleeding in gravel and you want to say hello? _kind of way, but more in the _you gave me the best orgasm of my life and you _just_ want to say hello?_ way. "It's alright. I should have given you my number before I'd left. I had to get home to my brother and it must have, you know, slipped my mind." He heard how much of a jackass that made him sound when said aloud, even though it was true, and took a step toward Cas. Taking his hand in his, Dean pulled Cas along to an empty alcove a few yards away, glad to have him alone for a scant time, and shimmed into his space. "Seriously. I should have gotten your number."

Castiel seemed to mull that over, roll it around with his tongue for a moment before he asked, "How about I give it to you now?" As he sank the slip of paper into Dean's jacket pocket, he let his fingers graze Dean's before traveling slightly downward and glancing over his hip-bone. Dean knew by the slight shake in his touch that Castiel was nervous and unsure about his movements. It made him wonder if anyone had ever hurt him for his efforts at affection or charm and his blood heated a degree. No one had that right.

"You still in school, teacher?" Dean asked with a slight step toward Castiel, closing the space between them another inch. Castiel sputtered something that sounded like "P-perhaps" and Dean smiled. "Bet you're one of those guys who never played hooky, huh?"

A full-belly laugh left Castiel. "No, I don't suppose so. I do want to see you again though. That is, if you want to see me."

"Perhaps."

Castiel laughed again. Biting his lip nervously, he shot his eyes to his watched and sighed. "I've got to..."

Dean interrupted him by pulling him in with the hand he was still holding. Sliding the fingers of one hand through silken strands to cradle Cas close, he brought his other hand up to rest on Cas' jaw. He drew out that tongue that had driven him crazy over a week ago and demanded a rematch.

Pulling his face away slightly, their lips sliding against each other, hot breath caressed Dean as Castiel groaned. "I really have to go."

"I want to see you again." Dean startled himself when he said those words. It wasn't until they were out there, unable to be taken back, that he realized they were true. He really did want to see Castiel again, even if it was just for a dinner date or ice cream and a movie; it was Castiel's time and attention he wanted. It was Castiel's presence that he craved more than his next meal or cigarette.

A breathy moan left Castiel when Dean's thumb rubbed against his cheek. "I want to see you later tonight." In a smaller voice he said, "I don't want you to leave."

"Hooky?" Dean asked hopefully.

Castiel shook his head.

"I'll call you." Another press of lips and Dean backed up, sunlight spilling over his body as he moved from their little nook. "I really, really will."

"Hey, Dean? You think I could have Jess over tonight? She and her mom aren't doing so well together and I really want to make sure she's okay."

Dean secreted his grin away behind his hand that he brought up to rub against the back of his neck. It was amazing how well Sammy was doing with his girl; they were always talking on the cell phone he'd bought Sam the day after he'd told Dean he was seeing someone and would take every chance he could to say something about her. They'd decided to have her over for a Winchester dinner at Christmas when it came around and Dean was happy to meet her. His brother wouldn't shut up about her, ever. When Sam glowed this much, Dean didn't have a chance in hell of saying no to anything his little brother wanted. He was sad he wouldn't get to meet her tonight but he was excited for his brother. "Yeah, definitely. Um, I actually have a thing tonight, a..." He trailed off nervously.

"A date?" Sam squealed excitedly.

Blushing, he grumbled, "Shut up. Yes, so I'm not going to be here. Might not get back until morning if I'm lucky." When Sam huffed, he laughed. "Seriously, shut up. Just, you know, be careful, order pizza, chill. Whatever. Protect yourself, but more importantly, protect her. Got it?"

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's confused look. "You have the whole night with her, Romeo, make it count."

Sam sputtered. "You... You think we'll..."

"I think you've been going out for a month and a half now. Something's bound to happen, Sammy. You're a big boy now. You'll know what to do."

Not at all confident, Sam sighed. "Dean, I don't know how to do any of that... stuff. She's so amazing and smart and wonderful." He hung his head. "What if I mess it up?"

Dean was at a loss. Never one to think down upon anything he did or said, his brother was the embodiment of confidence, and to see him falter now in the face of finally being with his girl, Dean really didn't know what to say. When he lost his virginity, he was sixteen and trying to persuade himself to really, really like girls. Look how he turned out. Plopping next to his brother, Dean placed his hand reassuringly on Sam's shoulder. "You'll do what you both feel comfortable with. You're too good and too smart to screw this up. If it happens, it happens. There's nothing you can do but to go along with what feels right. If she's the one, Sam, she's it. I have the utmost confidence in you to love her the way you feel she should be."

"Did... Did we just have a chick-flick moment? Cause that's what I think just happened." Sam smirked around his worry.

"...And now I feel dirty."

As he laughed, Sam stood and handed Dean his favorite jacket – their father's old one that was left behind – and smiled. "Same everything back at you, lover boy."

It took Sam a half an hour to fix the damage to his hair after the noogie Dean gave him.

* * *

><p>Dean was late.<p>

Leaning back in the cracked faux-leather bench at the diner they were supposed to meet at, Castiel glanced at his phone again. They had decided to meet up at the diner near the school because Dean had wanted to eat before they went out somewhere and he still hadn't shown. As it was, Castiel had to cancel a couple students' after school meetings so he could make it here on time. Obviously for no reason. The mug of tea he'd ordered a half an hour before was cold, honey resting on the bottom, stale from lack of stirring.

"Sir, are you sure I can't get you anything else?" The waitress asked again, this time a hint of annoyance edging along the underside of the polite request. Castiel had wanted to be early, so now he had been here for forty-five minutes and with the frequent stares he'd received from the young woman he knew his welcome had reached its limit.

Taking out his wallet, he slid ten times the worth of his drink toward the girl, forced a small smile that felt more like a grimace onto his face, and told her to keep the change. She walked away. Grabbing his trenchcoat from beside him he left.

He was so stupid. When he'd gone up to Dean today at school, he hadn't thought about anything but his smile. He'd wanted to hug Dean so much he had been shaking, small tremors rocking his body for a simple touch from the man who was now standing him up. Admittedly, he shouldn't have gotten so carried away earlier. How was he supposed to act around the guy, though? It wasn't like he could actually keep his hands to himself.

Trying Dean's cell one more time – just to make sure he hadn't run into, like, car troubles or something – he encountered the answering machine once again. He turned the phone off.

The sun had gone down about an hour ago and Castiel held his coat closer to his body to keep as much heat in as possible. It wasn't that he didn't like winter or snow or anything, just that he hated it when he was in an already foul mood.

He made it back to his apartment in time to see a side of Crowley he hadn't seen for a long time. "My fucking eyes!" He screeched, trying and failing to catch himself in the doorway before his ass met the floor with a disheartening plop. That would bruise.

"Cassie! Dearest, do you think you could pass me the whip cream and Pringles?" His friend called from the sofa with a smiling Gabriel sniggering whole-heartedly.

"Glad to know my pain amuses..." Castiel grumbled as he yanked up the haphazardly thrown canisters, returning them to Crowley, doing his level best to not touch him in any fashion.

Not able to just not ask, he blurted, "Aren't you and Balthazar together?"

Shrugging, Gabriel pouted. "Most of the time. Tonight he had a fit and threw me out. Had to go somewhere."

"No, Cassy, we didn't do anything. The little squirrel threw his own little fit and decided to get drunk and spill some of my good stuff all over himself." Crowley cleared up for him.

Gabriel asked excitedly, "Wanna join us?"

"Movie or drink?" Castiel worried.

"Either, or. Whatever. Really not too picky." He laughed again as he popped a Pringle into his mouth.

He cringed. "How about neither and we call it a day?"

Crowley grabbed his arm, swung him down to sit between a scantily-clad Gabriel and roommate and was forced to choke on a Pringle every five minutes or so.

It wasn't that bad.

Saturday wasn't that much better than the day before, dateless evening or not. Crowley had kept him on the couch all night, nestled there like a child, forced to watch bad television he didn't even try to pay attention to.

Now, he awoke on the couch, head in Crowley's lap. It was actually kind of cute seeing Crowley sleeping soundly with his arms cocooning Gabriel like they were. He wished he had his phone to take a picture of it and mock his roommate for the rest of eternity.

Speaking of the irritating machine, Castiel tugged it from his pants pocket and turned it on. 'One new message' the screen proclaimed, words bright and eye-catching. Thumbing the call button, he listened. _"Hey, Cas, it's Dean. Look, I'm really sorry about last night. Something really important came up and I had to jet. Umm, I really do want to get together soon, though. I know I messed up, but I want to, you know, make it up to you and such. So, yeah. Call me back? Please?"_

He deleted the message and sighed. Something important came up and Dean couldn't call to let him know? That was not something Castiel would take easily. If he'd called last night to let him know, that would have been fine, but to let him know in the morning was practically insulting. Thinking back to when Dean had all but dragged him into the alcove and the passion he'd seen in those eyes, Castiel wondered why he'd let himself be so drawn to the man, why he'd let his inhibitions down so thoroughly that his need and want had shown through. It almost made him feel dirty how open he'd been; it almost made him feel exactly how he was with Jimmy. He couldn't handle that again.

Gabriel grumbled incoherently for a moment then nuzzled further into Crowley.

Castiel knew it was going to be a long day.

Gabriel had a terrible hangover that he tired and succeeded to cure by simply finishing the fifth that sat on the coffee table before rushing off to the bathroom to throw it back up. The shower turned on a moment later and when Castiel heard the opening lyrics to a Taylor Swift song, he turned to Crowley accusingly.

"What? I can't help it if he has a good taste in music." The smirk his friend gave him spoke of triumph.

Castiel grumbled something about best friends ruining lives before the front door was almost knocked in.

"I know he's in there! I know! Let me in!" Came a battle cry through the wood. They both glanced at each other and shrugged, getting up and letting in the deranged man before they had to get a new door.

Crowley smiled and opened his arms, expecting a hug. "Balthy! To what do we owe the pleasure?" He asked.

"Don't give me that crap. I know Gabriel's here and I want him." Seeming to rethink what he said, he corrected himself. "I want to see him."

"Bathroom." Castiel sighed and closed the door after the man entered.

The next few hours were horrifying. Balthazar and Gabriel fought behind the closed bathroom door for a half an hour, wasting precious hot water, before they heard the tell-tale signs of sex in the shower for the next hour.

"We need to bleach everything in there." Crowley grumbled miserably and Castiel almost fell out of his seat from the hysterical laughter.

Shortly after the need to dig his ears out with a spoon arrived, the bathroom door swung open and a smug Gabriel sauntered out, practically attached to Balthazar who simply shrugged at Castiel's inquiring raised eyebrow.

"What? You never had shower sex?" Balthazar asked, truly questioning Castiel's sanity.

"Not in someone else's bathroom." He pointed out helpfully.

Another shrug and the boys asked if Castiel and Crowley wanted to go out clubbing that night. Castiel thought alcohol was exactly what he needed at the moment and promptly agreed.


	6. Sam's Quite a Character When He's Drunk

What You Do When No One's Looking

Part 6

As soon as they sat down at the bar, Jo was there taking his order. Moments later three shots of top-shelf whiskey and two beers were placed in front of Dean. He handed two shots to Sam and held up his own for a toast. "Happy birthday, Sammy!" He shouted before throwing his hand back and letting the wonderful burn travel down his throat and sit warmly in his belly. Watching Sam sputter for a moment after throwing back his own drink, Dean laughed.

"Shut up." Sam demanded around a bout of coughing that did nothing to deter Dean's amusement. Throwing the other shot into his mouth and grimacing, Sam did his best not to throw up.

Dean took pity on him and handed over a beer. "You, little brother, are now a man. This is the celebration party. Buck it the fuck up and enjoy."

"Eighteen doesn't a man make."

"Whatever. Jo, another."

They sat in companionable non-silence for a while, bickering back and forth about childhood things that had happened. Sam just _had_ to bring up the time Dean broke dad's favorite drinking glass and had to stay home from the trip the rest of the family went on to Disney World. Dean shot back with how Sam drew on the living room wall with crayons and permanent marker when he was ten, trying to figure out how the continents could actually fit together to create the land mass Earth had before humans existed, and had to paint over it even though he had succeeded.

"I had proved the theory! I had done it perfectly and he made me ruin it!" Sammy whined into his drink. Dean couldn't help but to snigger at his brother and Sam scowled. "At least I didn't lose my virginity on the living room couch."

"So you did lose it then?" Dean beamed when Sam mumbled a pitiful 'maybe' and slurped at the edge of his glass. "Sammy! You dog!"

"Shh..." Sam scolded, a finger held up to his lips that trembled slightly with his laughter. "Could you say that _any_ louder?"

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy..." Dean sing-songed as he waved at Jo for another round of beers. Sobering slightly, Dean smacked his brother on the back, making him slosh his drink and pout. "I'm really happy for you, you know. She's a great girl."

"You don't even know her." Sam informed him as though he didn't know that already.

"She puts up with your ass. That's good enough for me." At his shit eating grin, Sam smacked him in the shoulder and pouted further. Just when he was going to apologize, actually apologize to his brother, Dean saw Castiel across the bar top and stilled. 'Not now', he cringed as Sam tossed back his fourth shot. 'Why tonight? Why here?'

"Dean, this stuff is nasty!" Sammy squealed as he slammed the glass back down. "Gross, but pretty cool." The eyes Sam turned to him had Dean beaming momentarily, making him forget all about Cas. His brother's eyes shone with devotion and brotherly love, the acceptance he'd been needing to see for so long, _so long_. It'd been so long, in fact, that he had forgotten what that kind of love felt like; how it warmed him more than any drink could.

"Another!" Sammy nearly screamed a few minutes later. The alcohol had really hit him hard and now, fidgeting on the stool, Sam was becoming restless. He tapped his tumbler against the grain again for emphasis.

Laughing, Dean murmured, "Slow down there, Tiger. That's enough for now." Waving the bartender closer he said, "How about another beer for now and more shots later?" He laughed again when his brother nodded his head so emphatically he almost fell off the stool he was haphazardly perched on. "Or maybe not."

Sammy looked at him intently and giggled, freaking giggled, but seemed to sober from his fit soon enough with a serious look and a pat on Dean's shoulder. "You know, I've always been jealous of you."

Puzzled and completely taken off guard, Dean asked, "What the hell for?"

Sam scrunched up his face adorably. "You had mom. Like, the best days with her, you know? I mean, Dad was okay, whenever he was around, but you were like both parents. You always did what needed to be done, handled everything, leaving me with nothing to do but homework. I get it, I think. It's just... You grew up _so fast_, you know? Of course you do. Yeah. I just..." Fumbling for a moment, he fiddled with his hands. "I'm sorry."

Dean had no fucking idea where this was coming from. How, in any way, should Sam feel guilty? Dean knew it was his place to become what was necessary even back then. It settled too close to him, though, the fact that Sam was almost there when it came to guessing what exactly it was that Dean had done – and continued to do – to keep Sam safe and happy. Even very, very buzzed, there was no knowing glint in his brother's eye, no 'I know what you're doing and you really should stop' tilt to his head, so he knew he was mostly in the clear.

"Sammy, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"No, you just, you don't understand. When Dad left, you were a wreck." At Dean's snuff, he relented. "Okay, maybe you just hid it well. You were never young. You were always worrying about Dad's drunken bouts, or worrying about when his sober nights would turn into drunken fights. I wish you had let me help you."

"You are talking way too well for someone who can't hold their liquor."

Sammy nodded at that, pulling his lips into one of his numerous bitch-faces that means he was relenting to a point. His gaze seemed to screen the crowd before he cried, "Professor Novak!"

Dean shook his head at his brother's exuberant behavior. The kid always had so much energy stored up in his tall body that sometimes he wondered if his brother was a dog in a past life. He grabbed his bottle by the neck and turned just in time to see Sam shuffling over to Cas.

"Professor Novak! Hey, didn't think I'd see you here." Sammy said, his words almost running together. Tossing an arm around Dean's obsession, Sam tugged the guy into a hug. "I know you don't like hugs, but I had to. Have to. Yeah." Sam laughed and Dean couldn't look away.

"Samuel. A pleasure to see you again." Castiel said after he was released.

For the longest time, Dean couldn't breathe. Castiel was talking to his brother comfortably, almost as though they had no idea he was there. Castiel Novak. Now there was a last name to obsess over. His brother glanced in his direction and smiled wide, drawing his arm back around Cas., and dragged him over.

"Dean, this is Mr. Novak. He's a teacher over at the college in town. When I went over to get a tour and check it out, the professor here helped me out with my classes and stuff." His exuberance made him jump around a little and almost fall over. Righting himself, he giggled. "He's awesome."

Dean hummed low in his throat as he took in Castiel. He saw the way Cas wouldn't look directly at him, his eyes dancing over Sam, the crowd, the bar. Anywhere but at him. "Professor Novak." Dean deadpanned, acknowledging him.

"Dean."

Sam seemed to drag him eyes between them without picking up the hostility. "D' you guys know each other?" He asked.

Castiel turned to Sam and let loose a smile Dean hadn't ever seen directed at him. "Not exactly."

Sam laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach. "You guys are awesome. I'm g'na go ask for another drink."

Watching his brother trot off and leave him behind was hard. Harder still when Castiel asked him if he allowed underage drinking often.

"He's my brother, Cas. Eighteen is a big deal." Dean took a gulp from his beer. "So what if he gets drunk on his birthday?"

"Dean, he's not of age."

Dean smiled cruelly. "Are you angry because I let Sam have some fun, or because I had something come up last night?"

Castiel fumed, his eyes narrowing in on Dean with anger. "Do not presume to know anything about me."

Relenting, Dean let his shoulders slump. "I wanted to be there. I wanted to be with _you_, but I couldn't and I'm sorry."

The man let his gaze travel up and down Dean, taking him his slumped stature and begging eyes, the apologetic tilt of his lips. He couldn't let it go that easy. He couldn't. "Were... If you weren't with me then who were you with?" When Dean's eyes widened for a split second, he huffed. "So there was someone else."

"No." Dean grabbed at Castiel's hand, but he'd torn it from Dean's grasp. "There was no one else." _That mattered. _"There's only you. Please, believe me."

"You're body is telling a different story." Leaning in, Castiel whispered, "Everyone else is as well."

Confused, Dean glanced around them, searching the crowd for a reason Castiel wouldn't trust his words. He had fibbed a little, true, but it was with the best of intentions. Castiel was the only one that mattered to him; his heart jumped when Castiel smiled, when he remembered their night together. There were some of his John's here, though, and their stares were burrowing into Dean now that they were brought to his attention.

"There's no one else." He repeated, sincerity pouring from his gaze. Taking Castiel's hand and a step closer, he said it again.

Castiel tilted his head up slightly and pursed his lips. "How do I believe you?"

"Trust me."

"Hey!" Sam said. Stumbling toward them, he grabbed Dean's shoulder to get his balance back. "I think... I think I'm going to be sick."

"Why don't you go home. Get some rest." Castiel offered, concerned at Sam's parlor.

Dean nodded his agreement. Tossing his arm around Sam's waist, he leaned his brother closer to him and took his weight, steering them toward the door. Sam gave a token fight at first, but gave in when his stomach gave an unhappy roll.

"Come on, big guy." Dean said low and comfortingly. They made their way toward the exit, almost there before Dean turned slightly to find Cas. Slightly shocked to find him following them, Dean asked, "Do you mind helping me get him in the car?"

"Of course."

They easily got Sam comfortable in the back seat, lain down and covered in a blanket before Castiel turned to go back into the club.

"Hey." Dean suddenly called. "Do you... want to come back with us?"

As he said the words, Dean felt sick. He was asking for forgiveness and happiness and oh-dear-god-please-come-home-with-me all in one and feeling so desperate for Castiel's warm body to press close and make him forget all his worrying over whether Castiel would ever hold him again. He was what he was – a whore, he'll admit, mostly because prostitutes were exactly that – but he knew what he wanted now, knew he could be better, if only given a chance. Not only did he hate what he was doing for a living, he wanted out, so desperately out that he could taste his self-hatred in every shot of come he got plastered over his face and mouth from strangers. He wanted to be loved for once in his life. Needed it. Remembering the way Castiel had held him that night, caressing him through his aftershocks and kissing him tenderly with fingers tugging softly on his hair, he ached more than he ever remembered with need for any simple touch.

Castiel seemed to contemplate Dean's small plea, rolling the flavor of it over his tongue, making him sweat. Indecision raged through the man's body from the way his shoulders were held and the tightness around his eyes. Dean could see that Cas was reliving last night, being alone and stood up and not wanting that to be him again. Cas began to pivot, turning away from Dean, and Dean whimpered sadly. As the man he wanted began to walk away, Castiel tossed over his shoulder, "Let me tell my ride I won't need him.", and Dean's smile outshone the moon.

* * *

><p>"Sorry about the mess."<p>

There wasn't really much out of place but Dean felt like everything was wrong about his place. The furniture was all from second-hand stores, ripped and shabby, the floor in desperate need of a good vacuuming. Dishes sat in the sink waiting for some soap and time.

Rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that wasn't holding up his brother, Dean murmured, "Let's get him to his room?"

They set out toward his brother's bedroom. Resting Sam on the mattress, Dean stripped his brother of his jacket and jeans unabashedly, throwing them toward the chair in the corner of the room before tucking the hulking form under the covers. Brushing the hair from Sam's face, Dean checked his forehead for a temperature and found none. He shuffled toward the kitchen and got a pair of aspirin and bottle of water to set on the nightstand, knowing full well that the headache Sam was going to have when he woke up would need some help going away.

When that was done, Dean directed Cas to the couch and removed his own jacket that he threw over the back of his seat. Watching Cas remove his own coat and fold it gingerly before placing it in the chair next to him, Dean chuckled. "You're not going to break anything here, you know."

Castiel gave him a bitch-face that rivaled Sam's. "I would like to respect your home, Dean."

Dean smiled and held out his hand. "Can I have my keys back?" Castiel had insisted that Dean was in no shape to drink them, and Dean had given in after a token protest – he didn't want to crash his baby, even if that meant letting Castiel drive her.

Castiel tossed them at Dean's chest, his eyes slightly playful. "Of course. Can't have you missing her when you wake up."

"That's not all I'll miss."

Again, Dean felt sick. Why the hell did he feel the need to blurt out all his innermost thoughts about the guy? He hated the way his heart constricted while he waited for the inevitable slammed door or shouted curses that would curl his fists to fight with but knew he deserved. Instead, soft fingers tilted his head back to make him look into blue orbs that were smiling as much as the lips underneath them.

"You are so _difficult_. Why must you be so? I want this Dean, God help me, I do, but I can't be here with you if you hide things from me." Dean went to interrupt, but Castiel simply talked over him until he quieted. "Maybe you haven't been doing it on purpose, but you have. I just..." Turning his own head away for a moment, he murmured, "I can't be with another liar."

Dean had no idea why he did it, but he reached with one hand to curl around Castiel's neck, thumb caressing the man's cheek, then brought Castiel's head down to press a questioning kiss to his lips. Castiel gave way to Dean when a small whimper escaped the chaste embrace, smashing lips together in an almost painful kiss, demanding entry. Dean felt when Castiel gave in; he felt the tension and stress and un-sureness flood high then evaporate through the room, dispersing and leaving.

As he loosened up, Castiel began to fight for dominance - whether for revenge or need to assert, Dean didn't know – and fought right back just as hard. It wasn't because he hated being bottom that he tried so hard to win at first, but because he was scared. He was scared of what it would mean of him, to himself, to have let another man be inside him when he wasn't 'working'. The kind of trust someone had to have in their lover was too much, but knowing that Castiel could feel the same about it made him pause. Would Castiel trust him enough? _Could_ he?

"Stop being distracted." Castiel growled as he went down to nibble on Dean's collarbone.

Arching slightly, Dean laughed. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do abo... Shit!"

Castiel had been moving the back side of his fingers over Dean's torso, torturing his stomach with light touches that made his muscles dance, then suddenly wrestled with the zipper and button on Dean's pants and was roughly jacking him as much as he could in the confines of the denim. Palm gliding over flesh, fingers gripping tightly, one dipping into the slit to smear any pre-come that dared escape, Castiel moaned deliriously, "You're right here. With me. Please be here with me."

Dean nodded fiercely because he couldn't speak. Castiel was all around him, touching him, kissing him, caressing him, so much so that he had no way of thinking clearly and the thing of it was he didn't want to. Here, right _here_, there was no need to think, to do anything but feel those hands, those lips, that affection. He must have been mumbling his thoughts because through the haze he heard Castiel chuckle.

"Ungh... huh?" He asked as the hand on him slowed.

"My lips, huh?" Castiel ran said instruments over Dean's own lips, his cheeks, his eyebrows, the underside of his chin. "What do you want my lips to do, Dean?"

The whimper that escaped him was pitiful, really.

Those lips pressed chastely against his again before pulling away slightly. With breath caressing Dean's face, mixing between them to be something of their very own, Castiel asked, "What do you want from me?"

He didn't even need to think. "Stay."

"Okay."

Castiel did stay. He had wanted to slow down, to not maul Dean to the point of exhaustion, but Dean had other ideas. Soon enough Castiel was working him open with smooth, sure strokes, slow enough to torture and mix sweet sensations with hasty kisses before breathing became too important and the only sounds remaining in the room were clothing slipping to the ground and panting breaths. Dean produced a foil packet, slid the condom on Cas, and laid back, eyes hopeful and pleading and lusty and "Please, please, please..." falling in a mantra as he arched his back dragged his straining cock against Castiel's.

"Please." Dean had ground out around a moan, his neck straining as he leaned up for a response and a kiss.

Castiel smiled, placed a kiss to the side of Dean's mouth, and positioned himself.

Rolling his hips but being denied the wanted stretch and _drag-pull-ungh-drag_ he needed, he looked up at Castiel who loomed over him, arm and stomach muscles tensed from the strain of holding back, staying still, being denied as much as Dean. "God, Castiel, please. I need you..."

The question was booming loud in Dean's heart even when the voice that spoke it was soft and gentle, the weight pounding his lungs enough to make him wonder if they'll ever work again. Soft skin brushed his ear before a silky exhale touched just below his ear. "Only me?"

Wrapping his legs around Castiel to tug him closer, Dean licked his way into that mouth. Dean didn't know if this was their last time together or if it was the beginning something, but he let his body scream the words he was afraid to speak, and, really, he thought he got his point across with a sweaty flourish. And two orgasms each.


	7. Elephants and Regrets

A/n: Well, this is it. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did! Again, a wonderful thank you to the wonderful AngelisIgniRelucent for a great beta job, and thank you to everyone who had story alerts and reviewed! Let me know what you think!

* * *

><p>What You Do When No One's Looking<p>

Part 7

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the elephant running through his head, shitting on everything and the ache in his body from a good night.

The second was the warm body next to him.

It actually took him a moment to put two and two together and stop coming up with five. The body was plastered to his side, an arm thrown over his hip to let fancy fingers travel the length of his stomach from chest to a few inches above the groin and back again.

Turning slightly, he saw a smile and flash of blue before Castiel set his head back down and moved to lay on his back. "Good morning, Dean." The words were said happily, though tentatively, and Dean wrecked his brain trying to figure out what the hell happened last night. He remembered taking Sam out for birthday drinks, remembered seeing and arguing with Cas, but after that everything was a bit hazy.

He really shouldn't drink like that.

When fingers began to trace the ridges of his spine, Dean moved, dropping his feet to the cool carpet floor, fibers scratchy against the bottom of his toes.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Castiel asked, voice dropping any hint of happiness and warmth from earlier. Dean felt the bed dip under Cas' weight moving on the mattress and a hand resting against his shoulder in concern.

His words were deadpanned, delivered with no heart at all. "I thought you'd be gone by now."

A hissed breath and the hand was removed as though slapped. "Why... Why would I leave? Dean, what's wrong?"

It scratched, tore at his heart that Castiel would pretend to be interested, would want to stick around now that he'd gotten what he wanted – laid – and Dean tried to hate him a little for that. It was hard though.

"Well, you can go now." Dean ground out somewhere from his stilled lungs. He wasn't trying to be mean, but his whole fucking body _hurt, _dammit, and he wanted Castiel to feel the same. What hurt more was that he didn't even know why.

He could feel Castiel's questioning gaze burrow into the back of his head. "Why are you being like this? Last night..."

"Was great, yeah. I've heard it before. Now, if you could..." He waved vaguely toward the door, arm thwacking back down onto his thigh.

Huffing softly, somewhere between humor and pain, Castiel bit out, "When you're ready to face the fact that you want this, let me know. If not, lose my number." While buckling his jeans back snug against his hips – the ones Dean had been lavishing with his tongue mere hours and a nap ago – he murmured, "I'm not sure which I'd prefer."

Dean had stilled when Castiel had started speaking, not wanting to risk giving the whimper in waiting a chance to escape. Just the sound of the man's zipper rising rang with finality, that he'd truly gone and sent him away, that he'd broken a piece of Castiel enough to make him leave. _"No, no, no, no, no..."_ He chanted in the back of his brain, the plea ramming itself against the back of his teeth, making his thighs shake almost as hard as when Castiel had been slamming into his last night, hot, sweaty skin slapping sweaty skin.

He didn't know how long he'd sat there, dumbstruck by his crushed heart. It clenched periodically as though it would be forgotten. As if it could be forgotten.

It could have been minutes, could have been hours, but the next thing he was aware of was his face being wet and shoved into his brother's shoulder.

"Dean, what did you do?" Sam tentatively asked while his fingers traveled through his hair. It just reminded him of Castiel tugging on it when he'd gone down on the man, humming and slurping and shuddering on the cock like it was a fucking dream come true before having it shoved into him again, and again, and _again_.

He cried harder.

His brother made a hurt sound at the back of his throat, Dean's pitiful cries piercing with a hangover. "Why'd you send him away?"

Shaking his head, Dean sniffed. He'd done it to protect himself, to protect what was left of himself from being hurt again. How wrong that stupid thought was. His organs had been carelessly thrown into a blender set to puree without the cover on to keep the guts inside, with every press of the pulse button sloshed more of them everywhere, and knowing he was the one controlling it almost killed him. "I want him back. Please, I just want him back."

"That's up to you, Dean. I'm so sorry.

It took him an hour on his brother's shoulder, two by the toilet to rest his turbulent stomach, a shower, and a week to come up with a plan that had any shot in hell of working.

* * *

><p>"You need to get laid."<p>

"You need to shut up."

Crowley scoffed, again, and set his morning brew down. It had been a week and a half since his night with Dean and Castiel still was on edge. It wasn't that he was expecting Dean to call him right after he left, but come on! How long is a man expected to wait for a response to a question that was as simple as yes or no? Does Dean want him? Does Dean miss him?

Does Castiel want to wait anymore?

Almost prepared to make a pro and con list about all this shit, Crowley interrupted his derailed thoughts. "I don't understand. You two got together, right? I mean, it was good?" At Castiel's nod, Crowley continued. "So what the hell is the problem. You both like each other and can obviously fuck without me there to guide you..." He gave a 'whatever' face to Castiel's growl and glare. "What's stopping you?"

He didn't know. If he let himself think about it for too long, he wanted to run over to Dean's place and either slap or fuck him silly – he still didn't know which one would be more gratifying – and then cuddle the guy close and never let him go. Another part of him just wanted to forget the whole thing. Maybe not forget it entirely; screw it into a box that will be kept hidden under old porn magazines and year old unwashed socks in the back of Crowley's closet. He was scared of any of those thoughts because he didn't _know_. It hurt almost as much as Dean sending him away.

Almost.

* * *

><p>It took seven tries and one really, really lucky break to get an interview with the hospital in town to be an application support analyst. He hated paperwork but the money was excellent and would pay the bills almost better then selling his body ever did. The security of sure money, of knowing that he would have that specific amount of money coming in every week, could release Dean from his guilt and pain and hate at himself for treating himself the way he had been just to get some kind of food into Sam's stomach. With a lot of talking and even more fudging and grazing of the truth, what do you know, he got it.<p>

"Gah! Dean, oh my God, really? That's so freaking awesome!" Sam had thrown himself at his brother when Dean had walked in. The guy hadn't even waited for him to remove his shoes before shaking his shoulders and giddily shouting, "Did you get it? Huh, huh? Did you, did you, did you?"

"Get off me, you big dog!" When the puppy eyes came out full force Dean laughed. "See?"

"Shut up." Smiling and cuffing Dean on the back of his head, Sam said more seriously, "I'm happy for you, Dean. I have no idea what you were doing before to get money..." At Dean's stern "Sammy.", Sam backed off. "And I don't want to. Ever. Just, you know."

"Yeah. Me too."

A few minutes of sincerity was apparently too much for the younger Winchester brother because soon he was smiling mischievously. "Dude, you're a secretary."

They broke two lamps and ripped Sam's favorite shirt before Sam cried uncle.

* * *

><p>"Come on, guys. Time's up."<p>

Groans permeated the air, the sounds of rustling papers with hushed questions and not so stealthy chicken scratches hastily filling in unanswered questions growing as the seconds ticked. Sighing, Castiel began to grab his own things and placing them in his bag so he could head home right after the last kid did the same. The students filed up to his desk and handed in their tests in as much of a pile as could be expected and cleared out.

He was trying to find room for all the papers in his bag when he caught movement from a few rows from the back. Glancing up, thinking it was just a student who'd forgotten something, he did a double take when he saw Dean sitting quite comfortably in tone of the hard chairs. When he looked at Castiel, though, his eyes clouded with uncertainty.

"Your classroom is huge."

Not exactly the first thing Castiel thought would be said when they saw each other again, but he could work with it. "What are you doing here, Dean?"

Or maybe not.

Dean gave a heavy sigh, closed his eyes, stood, and made his way down to Castiel, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to do them all at once. Castiel just watching him, trying not to let his emotions show on his face. He'd missed Dean. Even when Dean was being a jerk, he could always make him smile and dear God he missed that. He wanted Dean-hugs, Dean-kisses, Dean himself. It was nearly impossible for him not to stand and hug or slap the guy. Nearly.

Dean had cleared his throat once walking toward him, but did it again for good measure. "I've been thinking..."

"How hard that must be for you."

He received a glare, but nothing more. "I've been thinking, and I want this to work." At Castiel's incredulous look, he sniggered. "Don't get me wrong, you are a scary-ass man, Cas, but that's what I like about you. You intimidate to get what you want; that night at the club with that scrawny guy? You could have burned holes in that guy's skin with the possessiveness you threw at him. You yell and scream and bitch over everything. But, mostly, I've been thinking about us."

"Us?" Castiel deadpanned, trying not to let the butterfly of hope flutter too high lest he need to catch and kill it.

Lowering his head to laugh, Dean muttered, "Fucking chick flick moments," just barely audibly then, suddenly, he couldn't look Castiel in the eye. "You erased every bad thing that's happened to me since my dad left me and Sammy years ago, trust me when I say you don't want to know, and I needed that. You made me see, with all your huffiness and laughs and touches, that I could have more than I allowed myself. I don't really think I could stand it if that was taken away."

Castiel stood, taking tentative steps in Dean's direction like if he moved too fast the illusion would shatter and never appear again. "I don't know why you waited so long." Stopping a few feet from Dean, he waited.

"Please don't leave me." Dean pleaded softly.

With such need and honest fear of being rejected shining in eyes that still wallowed in his dreams, what else could he do but wrap his arms around Dean and smile when he tucked his head in Dean's neck? He didn't care, 'cause that's what he did.

They didn't know what their futures were going to be like, if this was a happy moment but not the happy ending, but they were willing to find out.

That was all that mattered.


End file.
